Til Death Do Us Part
by People Person I'm Not
Summary: "'I will love you til death do us part,' he promises in a murmur..." AnniexMitchell. Rated M for sexual elements.


**So this is my first Being Human fic... Sorry for any OOC, I'm still pretty new to the fandom. It's vague on purpose. Enjoy, and please review! **

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She's a ghost. Cheery, bubbly, animated, and surprisingly corporeal, but a ghost all the same. Dead as a doornail, as the saying goes Stuck on the earth for some reason or another, visible to a few, learning, changing, but still dead.

He's a vampire. Just as dead as she, but dead in a different way. Not nearly as innocent as she. She had been killed, he had been a killer. A monster. The stuff of nightmares. But at the same time he's only what he had been made to be, and he is fighting it. He is trying so hard to be normal, be human.

Fate threw them together, fate and chance. There's a third, but he's not like them. He's still alive; he's mostly human. One day a month he has to face the other thing he is, only one day. The others have to deal with it every day, all the time. They are what they are, and nothing can change that.

The first time they were drawn together it was subtle. Innocent. Not much more than a head laid on a shoulder, an arm holding a body close, a brush of fingers on a face, a chaste kiss. And it was enough.

The second time it was more. Fevered, deep kisses, the desperation of skin on skin, helping each other forget. When you're a ghost and a vampire, sometimes you need to forget, to have someone drive the demons away. They can do that for each other, fill the long dark night, force thoughts of the third out of their heads, out there with his nightmare taking him over under the light of the moon.

They can't hide it forever. Soon enough the third catches on, and at first he is injured, hurt by the fact that they have been drawing closer, leaving him on the outside. But then he grows accustomed to it.

It takes time before she dares ask him. Lying together in a tangle of limbs, bodies covered with a sheen of sweat, emboldened by his hands on her skin and his murmured words of love, she asks him hesitantly about being what he is, who he is. And slowly, speaking in fits and starts, he tells her.

She learns much that night. She learns his story—all of it, even the parts she's not sure she wants to know—and loves him more for his imperfections and his flaws, the cracks in the veneer.

It is hard at times, their love. Other women come up to him, trying to seduce him, drawn in by his eerie beauty. She can only watch unseen, snakes of envy and possessiveness coiling in her stomach. But then he returns to her night after night, marking her, making her his, promising she is his only.

There are times when it's scary, too. Times when his eyes go black and he has to fight harder than ever. He cannot hurt her physically, but it kills her to see him like that, trying to remain as human as possible and not give in to the other side of what he is.

Sometimes, also, they have to realize when the other _doesn't_ want contact. When the only thing that will help is being left alone to deal with the things that can't be hidden from.

They fall into bed more easily now, the hesitancy and nerves gone. They know each other inside and out, and no words are needed—just the press of bare skin on bare skin, fingers trailing over sensitive spots, and muffled moans. It is good. Together they can forget what they are for a time, for the other doesn't care. It doesn't what they've done, who they've been.

They fight at times, too, horrible fights, ending with her in tears and him storming out, leaving for a time. During this time she turns to the third for comfort, comfort he willingly gives. Meanwhile, he roams the streets, pulling at his dark curling hair, dark eyes haunted. He loves her more than he wants to admit, even to himself, and knowing he was the one to hurt her drives him mad. But always he returns, and their reconciliation is sweet, curling around each other, tasting, biting, loving.

Their love is sweet and passionate and oh so addicting. She loves the feel of his mouth on her neck, his vampiric tendencies made human and not nearly as deadly. Of course, she is a ghost, and he can't hurt her. That is the only reason he gives in to those urges, for even if his eyes black and his fangs come out, nothing will happen to her. A vampire is born through death, and one can't kill what is already dead.

Despite his reassurances, she is afraid of losing him. Afraid that someday he will be sick of loving a ghost, wanting someone more corporeal, more human. When she voices these fears he chuckles low in his throat. The vibrations are pleasant against her as she rests her head on his bare chest. "I will love you til death do us part," he promises in a murmur, and she turns to look up at him, confused. They have both already died… Then she understands. They have both already died. Death cannot part them.

She feels his grin against her lips as she stretches up to kiss him, promising him forever.

_Finis_


End file.
